


The Red Tyrant

by RickishMorty



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: AU, Humiliation, King Rick, M/M, Prince Morty, Public Humiliation, Rape/Non-con Elements, Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:01:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28323516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RickishMorty/pseuds/RickishMorty
Summary: AU: King Rick and Prince MortyKing Rick has finally managed to capture Prince Morty, scion of the Black Kingdom.Based on an idea of Immy and a secret santa gift for RickC723b
Relationships: Rick Sanchez/Morty Smith
Kudos: 41
Collections: Rick and Morty Secret Santa 2020





	The Red Tyrant

**Based on the card versions of RaM, idea given me by littlepupaRam (Immy <3) **

The dungeons were dark, cold, damp. There was nothing to be seen and that cold that entered his bones seemed almost to him that he would feel it all his life. Or at least what he had left of it.

He had lost track of the days he had been locked up there. A faint light came in from a very high window, obscured by bars, making it impossible for him to understand exactly what time of day it was. Three, four days? He didn’t know. The only ones who had come there had been some Morty guards, checking that he was alive, bringing him water or a piece of hard, firm bread, which he could barely eat, chained as he was to the wall, with his hands up on the sides of the head. Not a word, or anything else: no one had given him the slightest information about his fate, or what would happen to him. Would he have been executed? Or used as a bargaining chip? Or left there to rot forever? Paradoxically, death was not the worst of the hypotheses that lay before him.

After all, there were stories about King Rick. All terrible and scary, worse than horror stories, because they were real. None included pity, compassion, but violence, cruelty and perfidy. He was not a king, he was not even considered a sovereign: whoever stained himself with all those massacres, carnage and unjust laws, could not be other than a tyrant. The same tyrant that his kingdom, the Black Kingdom, had decided to fight, opposing the climate of fear exercised like a shadow by King Rick.

Now, however, Prince Morty regretted the choice, the decision that had come mainly from his sister Summer, much more courageous and enterprising than him. He would have wanted only half of his lion's heart at that moment, in that darkness, which made him waver in what had been the banner of their kingdom from the beginning: freedom. The same freedom that he hoped his sister would soon give him back, freeing him from the yoke of those chains that were leaving indelible scars on his wrists and dignity. Were the troops already on the move? Was she coming to save him or had she left him there? Were the ambassadors negotiating, or had their severed heads been impaled on pikes? Would he see the sunlight again, or not?

Perhaps, just to see it reflected on the hangman's ax.

Morty closed his eyes, gritting his teeth with a pained and frustrated moan, before jerking his hands and screaming, ordering whoever was there to hear him to free him, to obey the orders of a king who was being treated as the last of the thieves. Had he known who his screams would attract, he would have been silent for another thousand years.

"Well, well, well... Finally some words worthy of a king".

Morty turned, looking beyond the bars at a figure that came out of the shadows, revealing himself in his completeness and in his elegant, precious clothes, inlaid with gold and vermilion. The Black Prince opened his eyes wide, recognizing that figure who looked at him with a grin and that he had only seen in paintings and from afar, on a war field, when he was little.

The Red Tyrant.

"But pronounced with the voice of a spoiled prince that makes everything very unlikely ..."

Morty pressed himself against the wall from which he had tried to free himself so far, taking refuge as if it were a safe den. A noise of keys and the cell opened, letting King Rick in in all his cold austerity: he was tall, very tall, certainly over two meters, which resulted in all his grandeur also seen how thin and slender he was, with that hair that almost looked like the flames of a devil. His mouth was folded into a grin that was enjoying every moment, while his eyes, gray and deep, studied him, looking at him from top to bottom, while Morty could not take his eyes off those diabolical irises.

He regretted never really learning to fight, like his sister; dying in the field, among a thousand arrows and the clash of swords, would have given him more honor than being there, no longer trembling from the cold, in front of an unbeatable enemy who would not have feared even the armies of all the counties.

In the midst of that fear and terror, perhaps, there was also a subtle reverence. An envy, perhaps.

The Prince smelled his smell of him, the only one different from that stench of mold and stale that had accompanied him for days: he smelled of oils, balms, precious creams from distant lands. And then, in the midst of those aromas, there was another smell that had nothing to do with it, deep and strong, which seemed to belong to him. Different from the sweat of the castle guards who were training, also different from that of his father ... he gave him goosebumps instantly.

It was fear. Obviously, it was fear.

Morty frowned at him, confused, unable to hold his gaze, but focusing on that mouth folded into a grin. Those gray eyes traveled every inch of his body, making him ashamed of being dirty, of having worn and torn royal clothes; that humiliation seemed to start from an olfactory matter, before being tied to the wall in front of him. The Prince had never been in that condition, never, since he was born; the last of the beggars before the first of the kings.

But he didn't have to give him any satisfaction. He had to do it for the Kingdom, before for himself.

"Maybe it would have been better to continue hunting in your private park, wouldn't it ...?"

The Tyrant lowered his torso, his hands behind his back, dropping a lot to find himself with his eyes in front of Morty's, the evil gaze teasing him, mocking him in that position where he was completely helpless, exposed. The Prince avoided his eyes, focusing on the red gold crown that soared above his head, embellished with obsidian gems, black as a dragon's scales. Again, he looked like a demon out of hell.

"How unfortunate that your first hunt outside the kingdom was also your last".

Morty swallowed, his mouth dry with thirst, moving his eyes in his, unable to escape: the _last_?

"But basically there are those who are made for power and those to serve. You are not your sister”.

Finally, Morty's pride was stung, as it always did: Summer was born to be queen. She was strong, independent, authoritarian, intelligent and wise. None of those characteristics could be used to describe him, who in heredity was the successor to the throne, but who everyone knew would never reign, unable to make a kingdom great.

Perhaps the Tyrant had given everyone a gift to kidnap him. He had eliminated an uncomfortable problem. Why had he done it then? Because he didn't know, or because he was so sure of himself that he feared nothing or anyone on the Black Throne?

"You don't even look like her..."

The King looked down at Morty's trembling lips, which struggled to stay still, but which were bitten in an attempt to clear his throat, to give a tone to that minimum of dignity that was left to him and that he had to defend before the enemy of always.

"If I'm so harmless, why am I here, in chains and segregated in a dungeon?"

Rick lifted his eyes to his, a spark that lit them for a second, like lightning in the sea of winter. Then, a sudden laugh that made Morty jump as the other straightened up, gaining his height again.

"Do you think it's because I consider you dangerous...?"

Rick continued to laugh through clenched teeth, before taking his chin, forcing him to look into his eyes, rising with his fingers to squeeze his cheeks, making his lips protrude.

"Perhaps arrogance is the only gift that your blue blood has given you. Do you feel dangerous, Prince? "

And no. Morty, with that cold, long-fingered hand on his face, didn't feel dangerous at all. He felt stupid, small and helpless.

He was.

Rick smiled at him, a sweet executioner's smile, as he left his face lewdly and slowly, watching his brown eyes fill with tears.

"S-so, w-why am I here?"

He stammered. Again. Despite all the blows taken in an attempt to correct that error, that symbol of insecurity and weakness that embarrassed the whole court. This was why he preferred to shut up often. But how could he not ask the reason for his imprisonment?

Another spark of lust and lasciviousness settled in Rick's eyes, warming them, making them seem deeper, while a secret thought moved in his head and his long fingers went to look for his belt.

"I already told you, right?"

Morty opened his eyes wide, lowering his face slightly, at the height of his pelvis that was almost in front of him, feeling his heart stop in his chest, observing a tapered thumb that slipped under his belt, sliding on it.

No. No, no, no.

The King enjoyed that expression, that body that again instinctively pressed itself against the wall, in search of a refuge that did not exist. In the silence of the dungeon, Morty could almost hear him sigh for a second.

His fingers twisted his belt, revealing the clink of keys, which he slipped out, lifting them against the handcuffs that had sawn off his wrists. The Prince followed that movement with amazement and disbelief, seeing him free after days of imprisonment, feeling his skin that seemed hot on top of him, cold and anesthetized by immobility. Morty walked away, lifting his face towards the older one, rubbing his wrists ruined by the steel that had choked them for endless hours. The King reached out, invasive again, snatching one of his fine white wrists from his fingers, looking at them and running a fingertip over it, slowly, making Morty squint with the pain of the wounds and the discomfort of the rubbing.

Between the two there was a silence that screamed tension, a tension that was different for both, in an electricity that for Morty was fear and for Rick was something else, something hidden in those irises that burned with a desire the Prince didn’t know nor had he ever known.

"Your imprisonment lasted long enough."

Morty swallowed, confused by what was happening, by those gestures that didn't seem to fit the King's ruthless and brutal temper at all.

"It's time you knew my kindness and the hospitality enjoyed by my guests, and even my enemies ..."

The ruler released Morty's wrist, nudging him forward and placing a hand behind his back as he led him out of the cell, his long red cloak of heavy velvet kicking up puffs of dust. Morty couldn't see them, but he could feel the Tyrant's eyes on him, his hand not leaving his back, in what felt like a caress running down his spine.

He felt it again as he pushed him toward two guards and two servants, who didn't even give Morty a look.

“Wash him _deeply_ and prepare him… I want him completely clean and ready”.

The Prince did not have time to turn towards the sovereign, that other hands took him and the red cloak of the Tyrant turned from him as he walked away.

Prepare him ... for what?

He kept asking the same question as the servants carried him into a room, stripping him of his frayed clothes, washing him thoroughly, probing his intimacy to cleanse him of all filth. Those unfamiliar hands entered inside of him, causing him to stiffen as they explored him more than his servants usually did. They discovered his cock, deaf to his complaints as they carefully washed his dickhead, regardless of the humiliation they were causing him with those invasive and unsolicited touches, inappropriate to someone of his rank. Morty, however, was weak, debilitated and terrified by that preparation: what was it for? A simple dinner? A simple and disturbing welcome? No, perhaps he was preparing him for a barter, an exchange; that the ambassadors had finally arrived? Yes, it must certainly have been that, negotiations had to begin and he had to prove that he was holding his prisoner in a good state.

Yet those eyes and that hand on his back told him something else, something he could not give a name to.

The Prince looked at himself in the mirror, recognizing himself again in his own features, but not in his own appearance: the red and vermilion clothes he wore were an affront, a violence to his origins, although they were precious and luxurious. Used to wearing black, Morty was not used to seeing himself with those blood colors, always identified with the enemy and banished from his own kingdom: anyone who wore red was incarcerated. Those obsidian gems in King Rick's crown, on the other hand, proved that he didn't care and fear nothing. Opposite. That color belonged to him, like everyone else.

His own name, Richard, meant king, leader, ruler; and again, strong, brave, hardy. Strong in rule. Everything about him screamed power and supremacy. And Morty hated being thinking about it so much. Why that reverence, that awe that was not yet another confirmation of his sovereignty?

"Follow us" a voice came to call him, as two guards approached, escorting him out of the room.

"Your Majesty," Morty said, emphasizing his rank and pulling an arm away from one of the guards, walking out of the room without them touching him. If anyone had to touch him, had to be just his equal.

Had to be him.

Prince Morty walked through the chilly corridors of the castle, looking up at the burgundy tapestries, where a very faithful reproduction of King Rick's crown, pointed and golden, was embroidered. His footsteps echoed in the silence, while outside the windows he heard a clamor, humming, as if there were a crowd gathered under the towers. Were they troops? Could it be the shipment sent to claim him?

The guards escorted him to the foot of one of the tallest towers, penetrating the steep spiral staircase with him, while Morty began to feel his heart pounding, not understanding why he was headed there. He thought he was going to the throne room or the royal council room, but why the tower? What did he want him to see from up there?

Could he want to… knock him down? Behead him or execute him in the eyes of all?

The Prince stopped on the stairs, feeling a pike prick his back, forcing him to continue up those steps which, although they seemed infinite, would never be enough. As if on top of that castle there wasn't the princess to save, but a dragon ready to burn him alive.

At the end of that staircase, two guards opened the door, revealing to Morty the figure of Rick cloaked in a long red cloak, his arms outstretched like a benevolent but vindictive father, greeting the people below him: under the walls, there seemed to be gathered the whole kingdom, among shouts, cheers and shouts.

Morty was grabbed by the arms by two guards, mesmerized by the tall figure of Rick, who really seemed to be spreading his wings like a fire-breathing dragon, ready to devour and burn anything. A shiver ran down his spine as he saw his gray gaze turn slightly towards him, as if taking note of his presence. Like his prey had really arrived at that moment.

Morty saw him raise his arms, in an endless clamor from his subjects, among whom he saw, surrounded by black-robed guards, a small core of dark banners: the Prince's eyes lit up when he saw the ambassadors who had really come to negotiate with the kingdom of Fire. Yes. That must have been why they had come up there; Rick would surely have made the choice known to the people, demonstrating his power to everyone against the opposing kingdom, crushing them in having the life of the heir to the throne in his hands.

The Tyrant's voice turned off all the others, high and vibrant, growling in the midst of a sea of bleating sheep.

"Tongues of fire, my lapillus, we pay homage to the ambassadors of the Black Kingdom, who came here for their Prince, our guest in these last days".

The guards who still had Morty in their arms carried him forward, bringing him closer to the low walls of the tower, which reached his belt, making him look out even more, next to Rick. The King put a hand on his shoulder the instant the guards left him, while Morty still shivered at the touch, which managed to convey authority even though his hands were barely resting on his robes.

“That our two Kingdoms have been fighting each other for an infinite time, is something our peoples know, in a natural and eternal antagonism that everyone bears the scars of. But perhaps it is not destined to be like this forever ”.

Morty watched the excited people make themselves heard in a confused buzz, with which he couldn't help but agree: he turned to Rick, frowning, observing his calm and serene smile, turned downwards and not at him.

What did he want? Peace?

“Was it our Prince who gave us the chance to find a key to our rivalry? May the presence of him… "Rick finally turned to him, his gray eyes inside his brown ones,"… could finally be a reason for _union_?

Rick approached Morty, who again smelled that scent, that perfume of him alone, while he felt tiny in front of the people, next to that tall and solemn figure. Important, for a second, a minimal, useless moment.

Could he be a reason for peace?

Rick lowered his face next to him, with that warm breath and that dragon's voice whispering in his ear: "I already told you why you're here, isn't it, Prince ...?"

Morty didn't have time to turn around when Rick grabbed his arm in an iron grip, moving him in front of him and against the tower walls, twisting it behind his back until it almost broke. The Prince did not have time to fend off the bricks with the other hand, feeling the surrounding wall break his breath in the violent blow to the stomach. He watched the small procession of his kingdom come surrounded by a multitude of red guards who immediately killed their black counterparts, with the ambassadors at the mercy of swords and pikes. The people screamed, galvanized and frightened at the same time, as Morty felt Rick's hands reach for his other arm, effortlessly pulling him behind his back, binding his hands like nothing had happened, as the wounds on his wrists burned, tied again.

Morty struggled, leaning against the wall, begging and pleading with him to let him go. No, he could not execute him like this, treacherously, in front of the whole Kingdom. No, no, he couldn't die like that.

But maybe it would have been better.

Rick grabbed his hair with his gloved hands, pulling hard and making him arch his back and a scream of pain from the unnatural movement, until he brought him to his mouth, again with that crazy and calm voice in his ears.

"You are here to serve ..."

The Red Tyrant jerked his pants down, heedless of the clothes he himself had given him, tearing and baring him in front of his subjects, while Morty remained motionless, opening his eyes that began to sting with tears.

No.

A mad laugh he would never forget accompanied the ruthless and obscene movement of something hard that rubbed against his buttocks. Morty had never known a man or a woman, but he knew very well what it was that he was touching him. And he was huge.

"NO! NO, NO Y-YOU CAN’T- "

"What can't I?" the grip on his hair tightened even more and Morty felt locks come off, while he held back a cry of pain, with the tyrant's other hand going to squeeze his buttock to death, widening it; “I can do every single thing allowed on this Earth. Everything belongs to me and obeys me ”.

Morty heard the humiliating and unscrupulous screams of the people below him who saw him naked, bent over, totally at the mercy of the monarch who was about to take his virginity in the open, in what was an insult to the Black Kingdom. And that for him seemed almost a game of possession. Like marking the territory, putting the flag on new ground, conquering a new land, in the true sense of the word. He would have entered his flesh, fucking his enemies through his skin, in the most crushing victory ever achieved by any army.

The Red Tyrant had won, without even trying too hard.

"And you don't make any difference."

The Prince felt the King enter him like a blade of fire, a sword that would have hurt less if it had been made of steel; the honor of dying in the field had not been granted to him and his cowardice made him regret not having sought the end there, in blood and mud, instead of with fine clothes and oils that at that moment made him feel more dirty than ever.

The Prince screamed in pain, closing his eyes from which tears came out impossible to stop, lowering his face in not looking at the people below him, in not giving them the satisfaction and the morbid desire to see a royal humiliated in that way. Useless. Rick grabbed the locks right above his forehead better, clenching his gloved fingers as he pulled him back towards him, causing him to arch his back as he sank his big hard cock even deeper into him, making him feel merciless, with a grin which Morty couldn't see, but which he heard in his words.

“Look at the people, Prince. Never look down in front of those you command..."

The King buried his fingers in the flesh of his buttocks with the other hand, while still pushing against him, forcefully, violently, relentlessly, feeding himself. Morty suddenly thanked those fingers in his hair, trying to force his legs not to go forward, unable to restrain himself with his hands, in a sob at every thrust that risked making him fall into the void, in a death that in that the moment seemed both tempting and frightening.

“I will slit the throats of your ambassadors as soon as you satisfy me and the story of your rape will be told all the way to the Black Kingdom, reaching the ears of your sister who will never challenge me again. Whether it's from the shame of your stolen dignity, or the hope that I will keep you alive, it will be something you will never know ”.

Rick looked down at his young body, at his ass swallowing his erection with difficulty, looking at those two dimples at the end of his back that he would still see for many, many nights.

"The sheets of my bed will be your home, and sooner or later, when you have paid for the sins of all the Black Kingdom, I will give you a pleasure greater than any power ..."

The Black Prince would feed the Red Tyrant's insatiable hunger as long as that crown was in his blue and gray hair.

Forever.


End file.
